


More than the Geek (The Loser, Whatever)

by fauxowrites



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Actually Can We Appreciate The Entire Cast, Also Can We Appreciate Drama Queen Michael, And Emulate That Good Peter Parker Vibe, Angst, Aromantic Christine Canigula, Based on the comics more than the movie, Bisexual Jeremy Heere, But I Do Love My Angst, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gay Michael Mell, I Love Christine Canigula btw, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I'm Trying to Keep Things Upbeat and Funny, It's Okay I'll Make It Up To You With Soft Bois™, Jeremy is a Bad Liar, Jeremy is in Denial His Sexuality, Jeremy's Dad is a Good Dad who Tries, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Or should I say Superhomos, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smart Michael Mell, Soft Feels, Superheroes, mostly lighthearted, spiderman!jeremy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-08-02 22:23:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16313765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxowrites/pseuds/fauxowrites
Summary: Jeremy never expected to be anything beyond what he was. His life gets suddenly turned upside down after being bit by a radioactive spider, and he's forced to deal with the aftermath. How does one even begin to be a superhero, much less stop being a loser?(OR: Jeremy becomes Spider-Man, decides to get his life together, and fails miserably at lying to everyone he knows.)





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot express how much I love this musical, or Spider-Man Jeremy. It fits way too well. I cannot! Resist! The bandwagon! 
> 
>  
> 
> Let this adventure begin!

 

Jeremy remembers wanting to be a superhero from a young age. Remembers sitting on Michael’s space-themed bed, the tv holding his breath, his focus, as live coverage of his favorite childhood idols scrolled across the screen, trapped in heroic chaos. When he and Michael were eight they strapped together costumes out of blankets and markers and tape, and slid through the hallways in their socks, pretending the floor was their worst enemy and the pillows on the couch evil minions. They wore those costumes for Halloween that year.

 

When they were twelve they chose superheroes as the subject of their school projects, and gazed longingly at figurines through the mall windows. They brainstormed personas over their gas station slushies; the colorful duo that would stop at nothing to protect the world. Jeremy spent that summer with a broken arm for climbing on top his roof, striking a pose, pointing out how far he could see, and inevitably slipping when he tried to go back down. That was back when he lived with his mom in the New Jersey suburbs.

 

Michael found a rabid fascination with one of the new-age male heroes when they were fourteen, and didn’t like openly expressing it. He would hide the posters he bought and stuff the featured magazines under his bed. When Jeremy tried to bring it up he would go red in the face, and disengage from the conversation. Jeremy didn’t understand what was going on until a certain sleepover in April when Michael quietly confessed, in the safety of the dark, laying underneath the space-themed blankets, to liking other boys.

 

The year they turned sixteen they went through both their rooms and packed most of their superhero junk into boxes to put in the Mell’s storage, keeping only the most exclusive figurines and occasional poster. The blankets went into a box and replaced with something more acceptably teenage. Michael re-filled his shelves with retro collectibles and band merch. Jeremy left his mostly empty.  

 

It never occurred to him that his childhood fantasy would become reality.

  


—

  


The first sign of change came when he jolted awake the morning after his school field trip, phone buzzing wildly and blaring an obnoxious tone from underneath his pillow. He swiped the alarm away, head falling back into the pillows, throwing his arm out to toss the device gently against his covers. At least, that was what was supposed to happen. Instead the phone stayed nestled comfortably in his palm.

 

Jeremy shifted his head to the side and blinked drowsily at his hand.

 

He stretched his fingers wide and turned his palm towards the bed. Blinked again, a little more awake. The phone stayed stubbornly in place.

 

He violently shook his hand up and down. No change.

 

And then he was suddenly and fully awake, more than a little freaked out, and texting Michael.

 

**[ Tuesday 06:23am ]**

 

**jerr**

Did you super glue my phone to my hand?

 

**playerone**

i wasnt even @ ur house yesterday dude

also y would i do that

 

**jerr**

Then maybe Rich pranked me again?? Idk I’m confused

 

**playerone**

ur phone’s not the worst thing that rich has stuck to u

 

**jerr**

I know you’re laughing at me, stoppp. What do i do?????

 

**playerone**

im sure it’ll come off!! …..eventually lol

 

Jeremy glared at his phone, feeling generally betrayed. He shook his hand again, groaned when it still didn't budge, and mimed tossing it like a basketball.

 

The device soared through the air, leaving Jeremy's hand behind with a twinge. It rebounded off the carpet, spun on an edge, and flopped over defeatedly in a corner.

 

He scrambled to check that it hadn't broken. It hadn't. This was definitely not the worst end to his situation, but he was left feeling hopelessly confused. And somewhat intimidated. He left the phone where it was, moving to continue his morning routine and avoiding it, until it startled him by buzzing when he wandered out of his bathroom.

 

It continued to buzz, because Jeremy was too distracted by the fact that when he jumped awkwardly against the wall in surprise, he _stayed there._ As in, his feet were not touching the carpet because they were stuck to the wall. _He_ was stuck to the wall. Jeremy Heere was defying gravity.

 

It was officially time to freak out. He flailed away from the wall and grabbed at his phone, scrambling for the call back button next to Michael’s nickname. (Who else would have called him?)

 

“ _Hey do you want a ride or—_ ”

 

“I'm sticky!” Jeremy whisper-shouted.

 

“ _—Were you gonna take the bus...What?_ ” Michael's voice faded away into silence and confusion as he rendered Jeremy's words. Jeremy’s brain, which was in the process of catching up to his mouth, short-circuited and conveniently forgot the entire English language. The silence grew. Michael made his recovery first, amusement clearly evident even through phone static.

 

“ _Uh. I would be sticky too if I spent my mornings the same way you do, man. Cause damn, we're both dealing with hormones, but you could win Olympic gold for—_ ”  

 

Jeremy hung up.

  


—

 

Adrenaline was starting to flood his system. He suddenly felt giddy and excited, bouncing on his toes as he adjusted his belt, snatching up his backpack, bounding out of his room in a rush. It had felt like forever since he was this energized. He was more alive, like his body was somehow new and fresh, lighter, and he could dance on air. An undead corpse that had been dragging it's way through the motions of life, and was suddenly, truly, reanimated.

 

_Okay, a little morbid there, Hamlet._

 

Instead of flailing wildly when his foot caught on the step-down into the kitchen, as it always did, he caught himself with ease. Unfortunately his sock slipped, ruining the victorious moment, and he was sliding forward against the hardwood. With a little scream in the back of his throat, he found himself sitting comfortably in a split.

 

Jeremy had never been flexible. Not even in childhood when other kids would bend backwards and walk around like freaky little monkey people, or put their feet behind their ears. He was always awkward in his own body and uncomfortably tense. His posture was specifically terrible.

 

This was new. This was strange, and _wrong_. Male hips weren't meant to bend that way.

 

He scrambled sideways, flailing his legs out of the unusual position and slamming his thighs together in a Marilyn Monroe fashion.

 

“ _Oh my God_ ,” he breathed.

 

“Jeremy?” His dad called from two rooms away.

 

“Uh! Ahm! I fell, I'm fine, I’m leaving, don't worry about it!” He screeched, wincing at the pitch and volume of his voice and rising off the ground. Once his converse had been shoved on he was out the front door without a backward glance at his worried father, backpack straps clenched tightly in his fists.

  


—

  


The morning flew by without Jeremy having the chance to track down Michael and freak out about his _condition._ He wound up taking the bus, curled uncomfortably against the window, trying to ignore the popular students messing around behind him.

 

The halls were unnecessarily busy and loud after the field trip the day before, and he had too much trouble getting back and forth between his classes and his own locker to go visit Michael's. It took until lunch before he managed to catch any sign of his friend. By that point he had built up a pool of anxiety and convinced himself that letting Michael know of his situation would somehow lead to catastrophe. The world would crumble in upon itself and end. Part of his conscious told him that was ridiculous.

 

But there was no way to know for certain that that part of his brain was correct. Certainly he couldn't risk it over the _world ending_ or worse—their friendship falling apart.

 

So he pressed his mouth into a thin line, watching a pair of white headphones weave through the crowd towards his corner of the cafeteria.

 

Michael bounced out of the wall of students, a giant grin splitting his face, an old slushie in one hand, and a fast food bag in the other. He bebopped into the seat across Jeremy, slipping his headphones off to sit around his neck. Jeremy could hear the edges of a song still playing through them.

 

“What's groovin’ dude?” Michael greeted, foot tapping against the floor to a rhythm playing in his head. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, dumped the contents onto the table, and started unpacking his mushy burger and fries.

 

 _I probably, totally, maybe have superpowers, my dreams are real_ , _help._ _Or something is just very, very wrong._

 

“You sounded freaked this morning. Not that that's new or anything, but like the freak freaked, not the normal levels of daily-life-of-Jeremy freaked. Also you look like ass. How's the phone-hand situation?” Michael spewed.

 

“Uh.” Jeremy said. _Tell him and the world most definitely implodes on itself,_ his traitorous inner-voice said. “It fell off almost as soon as I hung up. Not very strong super-glue, I think? I, erm, I had a bad dream...I guess?”

 

Michael sorted through his pocket junk, picking through crumpled receipts, gum wrappers, a screw, a business card; there was a dubious look thrown in Jeremy's direction, and a lost starburst pushed across the table at him.

 

“Ahem, that is, yes, I had a bad dream. When I woke up I was already kind of panicking and then I…spilled orange juice. On myself. So I was...sticky.” Very convincing. Jeremy nodded wisely.

 

“You're a terrible liar, Jeremy Heere. I know the real reason you were gooey and freaked out.” Michael moved onto unwrapping his burger, examining the sticker holding the paper closed, probably considering if he wanted to keep it.

 

“You do?” Jeremy squeaked, voice breaking.

 

Michael shook his head, smiling. “Olympic. Gold.”

  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** This chapter has been changed! 
> 
> Me: goes all the way to nyc to see bmc on stage as it moves to broadway  
> Me: shit i need to go back to my fic! 
> 
> Also me: just re-edits what I already have


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It occurred to Jeremy he didn't know how to be a superhero.

Jeremy launched himself towards the privacy of his room once home, locking the door and shedding clothing like water. He flopped down onto his bed to examine his hands. There hadn't been any more accidents since the morning, sticky or otherwise, but he also knew he hadn't imagined _adhering to the wall._ It hadn't seemed like any sort of prank either. Which meant he might have gained some sort of super ability.

Which was crazy. Him. Jeremy Heere the geek, with superpowers? Unlikely.

Nonetheless, giddiness fluttered up his throat and he resisted an excited squeal. Superpowers! Background character Jeremy Heere jumping to the forefront of the stage, living his wildest fantasy, becoming a _somebody_ , getting to be the hero, doing more than just...surviving.

It occurred to him he didn't know _how_ to do any of that. Didn't know how to step out of the role he currently played.

He had always been the loser. He knew that part, that script. He didn't know the hero's.

Well, he knew it consisted of putting yourself in constant danger. And of being responsible for lives that weren't your own, and of high expectations. And of the possibility of failure. He sucked in a sharp breath and re-focused on his hands. No one knew who Jeremy Heere was. He could continue living his life without ever using his powers—whatever they were, if he had them—keep blending into the background. He didn’t have to start whatever he was about to.

But, he couldn’t not know.

He couldn’t _not_ do this.

That would be his worst nightmare come true; he would turn into someone like his dad, a failure because he was afraid to fail. There were people out there he might be able to help, there was a difference he could make. Deep down he just knew it, and he wanted to try.

First, Jeremy had to figure out what was going on. Then he could decide what to do after that.

  


-

 

After a few minutes of backtracking Jeremy reached a conclusion. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened to him all week, except for the spider bite he received during the school field trip. So that was it, had to be. He was slowly turning into a spider. He was going to be a werespider.

He let himself fall backward onto his covers and groaned aloud.

He was so stupid. _Werewolves_ weren’t even real. But he did, probably, have spider powers.

Not that he knew what that entailed. Why couldn’t it be something easy, like getting struck by lightning and suddenly being able to wield it. Ugh.

The adhesivity made sense though, but that couldn't be the only thing he was capable of, right? There was the sudden flexibility after all. But he couldn't save people just by climbing walls and doing splits.

What other aspects of a spider were there? He hadn't grown more arms or eyeballs, he didn't have fangs, and so far he had no new appetite for bugs.

He latched onto one of the surrounding pillows and flung it in the general direction of the wall with an irritated huff. A slight pinch accompanied the movement. He winced and looked at the source—his wrist.

A small nozzle looking thing protruded out of his skin, between his veins. Jeremy watched it recede as his fingers relaxed, eyes widening.

“ _What the fuck._ ” He whispered. After a long moment of staring at his arm in shock, he jolted and whipped around to look at the wall. His pillow was stuck to it by a white, stringy substance. _Webbing_.

He threw himself across the room, stumbling over his blankets, to examine the material and figure out how to free his pillow. It didn't budge even as Jeremy tugged harshly on the corner. His heart started to race, and he could feel his palms heat up.

“No, no no. Oh God, oh Jesus. _Oh my God._ ” He took a couple of steps backward, tripped on the trail of blankets sliding off his bed, and landed heavily on the mattress. “Okay, don't freak out. You're good, _totally fine._ You didn't just shoot web out of your _fucking hand, what the fuck._ ” He squeaked, staring down at his hands, then back up at the pillow.

Slowly, he bent both his wrists backward.

Two nozzles rose out of the surface of his skin as the tendons in his wrists strained. He sucked in a breath. Wiggled his fingers. Pressed them into his palm. Jumped when more webbing shot out, landing uselessly on his carpet. It was pressure triggered then.

How was his body even _doing that?_ How was it making that substance? How was he going to get rid of it before his dad walked in?

Now that he was paying attention...had his fingers gotten longer? He looked down. His toes too, looked just the slightest bit longer than before. He swiveled his foot around to stare, then poke. The pads had gotten tougher too, like they were calloused. Weird.

He realized how he was holding his leg, and, out of curiosity, moved to stretch it above his head. It was like his limbs had liquidized. He was suddenly so much more flexible. Before, he had always been uncomfortably tense, and hadn't been able to touch his toes, or jog up a stairwell without breathing heavily. Now, he felt like he could run for miles and not break a sweat. And he definitely could do more than touch his toes.

The spider thing was freaky, sure, but there seemed to be positive sides to it.

A sudden surge of energy swelled within him and he jumped up to grab some sweatpants and an old tee to throw on. He collected his phone and wallet from his bedside table, and dashed out of the room.

His dad was sliding into the apartment from the front door.

Jeremy froze.

His dad paused and stared at him.

“Jeremy? Where are you going?”

“Dad! Uh, where are you coming from? You have pants on.”

“Well, yes son, I do. I got called into the office to pick up some paperwork.” He looked Jeremy up and down pointedly.

“Oh. Er, workout, no—jogging, I'm going jogging. It's part of a school thing. Yeah.” Jeremy could feel his mouth do the twisty thing it did when he lied. Michael had called him out on it many times, but he doubted his dad noticed.

His father's sad eyes told Jeremy he had definitely noticed.

“It’s February.” His dad pointed out, quiet.

“Ahuh!” Jeremy nodded enthusiastically, reaching for his heavy jacket, hanging on the hook by the door.

“...Alright. Be safe, Jer. Don't get yourself in trouble.”

“Right. Will try? Will do. I'll try.” Jeremy tried a small smile. It felt more like a grimace. He brushed past his dad into the hallway and fast-walked towards the elevators.

  


—

 

The wind bit into him as he rushed onto the street. He should have grabbed a scarf to wrap protectively over his nose, but he had mostly been thinking: _out, out, out._

 _Yeet_ , as Michael would have said. Jeremy still didn't know exactly what that word meant. Michael used it all the goddamn time though.

There was an entrance to a closed off, abandoned section of subway tunnel near his apartment that most kids strayed away from, out of fear of the dark and difficulty to enter. He and Michael had enjoyed traipsing through it when they were younger and able to sneak through the debris that blocked the door. They stopped when they got too big, too old. It would make the prime super-hero practice spot. While he walked he began to notice he hadn't started to sweat under his winter jacket or breath heavily. What was usually a long walk to him, suddenly wasn't all that draining.

Jeremy walked faster, faster. Broke into a jog. A run. Dodged a few people walking down the street, found he was leaving even the occasional car in the street behind. He didn't feel out of breath when he got to where he was going, and he got there a lot sooner than he had anticipated.

It was one of the glass train entrances, the windows a little rusted and fogged up by dust. One of the small glass panes near the back was broken—that was where he and Michael used to crawl in. Jeremy wasn't sure how they hadn't constantly cut themselves up. He was too large to fit through it now, but the glass near the top was crashed in as well, unreachable until now. He glanced around warily for bystanders. With a deep breath, he put his hands to the cold glass, hopped up, and climbed up and over.

He slid through the pane with ease and dropped a few feet onto the stairs below, glad for his sticky powers. Without them he probably would have gone tumbling down the steps to his death.

There was a little light on the stairs, but only darkness below. Dread crept up his spine. How had he not pissed himself in fear when he was a little kid down here, he didn't know.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he yelled, startling. It echoed eerily down into the tunnels below.

“ _Jeremy! You booked it out of school, man, I barely talked to you all day. But hey, I'm about to be on my way to your apartment, and I've got sodas and my DS._ ”

“Woah, Michael, hold on. I'm not home right now.” Jeremy cringed. He knew what was coming, and he knew that he was a very bad liar. Especially when it was directed at Michael. Or at least, he wasn't any _worse_ , Michael just knew him too well. It was fine, it _would_ be fine. It was just until Jeremy figured everything out and could plan an epic reveal.

“ _You're....not? Where are you?_ ” Michael sounded disappointed.

“Oh, uh. I'm gonna start jogging?” Jeremy glanced around apprehensively at the foggy glass, then down at the dark staircase. He took a quiet, shaky breath, and plopped down on a stair.

“ _Jeremy! That's awesome! I'm proud, dude. New year, new you._ ”

“It's February.” He pointed out, making a face that Michael couldn't see.

“ _Yeah, now that you mention it, kind of a terrible time to run around n-y-c. But hey, never too late or too early to start something new, right?_ ” Jeremy could hear plastic bags rustle on the other side of the phone, and a door creak open. He felt himself start to smile.

“ _We've always been less than athletic though, what made you change your mind about being couch buds?_ ” Michael paused. Jeremy scrambled for another excuse, smile falling. “ _Is...is this another Christine Plan?_ ” Michael's voice dropped to a soft, teasing tone, but Jeremy could swear he heard something akin to hurt.

That was impossible.

“Yeah, yeah!...Christine Plan, right, right. Uh, I've gotta run—hah—but I’ll catch you online later.”

“ _Hm, okay. Jeremy?...Are you good, dude?_ ” Michael's voice pitched up in worry, and he ignored the joke.

“What?” Jeremy inhaled sharply. “No—yes! Just, ugh, girls. Ugh, exercise. Ugh, cold. I'll call you later?” He was such a terrible friend.

“Yeah, definitely! Talk to you then...”

The line cut off and Jeremy stared at his phone's display. He could tell he had upset Michael. He was going to get all sulky and mopey, and probably high. That sounded bad, but that was just how things were; Jeremy was a ball of high-strung anxiety and Michael liked to be dramatic.

Jeremy turned the phone idly in his hands. He had always thought Michael would be the center hero of their duo, and he would be the quiet, broody sidekick. Player one and player two, respectively, like always. Yet, here _he_ was with the superpowers. Not that Michael would mind if things panned out in reverse, but it was another aspect of this fantasy Jeremy was not prepared for.

He shook himself back into the present, silently vowed to make it up with his friend, and began to descend the stairs into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I'm so happy to have re-done these first two chapters! :D They just felt so choppy before, oof


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, you didn't learn to manage your superpowers between one page and the next.

His footsteps echoed through the stairwell as he descended, and darkness swathed around him. He was about to turn on his phone's flashlight, when he realized that his surroundings were coming into full focus as he blinked. Huh. He reached the bottom of the stairs and peered around the corner. 

Everything was a little damp, and a little rusted. The MetroCard machines in the corner were covered in a thick layer of dust, and one of the screens was smashed in. Water leaked through the ceiling from somewhere further down, haunting the tunnel with a rhythmic  _ plink...plink.. _ . _ plink _ .

Jeremy walked over to one of the grimy turnstiles and easily hopped over the bars. He stood on the edge of the platform. One side of the tunnel was cleanly blocked off with a cement wall, and the other led further down into the dark, where he knew it was caved in with debris. 

Right, so, here he was. 

In an abandoned subway system. 

Ready to practice and learn about his super powers.

Jeremy paced back and forth on the platform edge, wracking his brain for ideas. He didn't know where to begin, or even what to do. This should be the start of his epic training montage, drumming dubstep playing in the background as he slow-mo punched at something, and made a sweaty, constipated face that was somehow still attractive. Where his continually disappointed teacher shook his head from the sidelines.

But...it was just Jeremy Heere in an abandoned subway. No teacher, no dubstep, no idea what to do next. 

He mimed slo-mo punching one of the tiled pillars and made a soft explosion sound. His mind turned to thoughts of his favorite superheroes, comics, and Keanu Reeves’ movies. 

He idly scuffed his shoe against the ground, rolled a rock around underneath his heel. He bent to pick it up and throw it at the wall. It bounced off and the sound of it echoed. 

Jeremy groaned.

He picked up another rock, tossing it straight up in the air, and trying to catch it with his webbing. He missed, hands fumbling awkwardly. Yeah, he didn't really have the whole web thing down yet. 

He tried again. Missed again. Groaned again. Sat down on the edge of the platform and watched his feet dangle over the rails below. 

Wall-crawling, check. Webbing, check. Weird reflexes, slash flexibility, check. Night vision, check. 

That was a decent list. But he still didn't feel like he could  _ do _ much. He didn't know how to utilize any of his abilities yet, didn't know how to make himself useful, turn himself into a hero. Could he even turn  _ himself _ into a hero? Or did he  _ need _ someone else to do it? 

No, most superheroes out there were self-made. He just had to...find his script. See how he fit into the equation. What plus Jeremy Heere equaled hero? 

He didn't know, yet. 

But he would figure it out. Without help. He was sure. 

 

—

 

Apparently, you didn't learn to manage your superpowers between one page and the next, unlike how his comic books worked. 

At least, Jeremy didn't. Not that he had much else to reference besides his comic books. Not that his hopes were high that he'd magically learn something. 

But during his three hours in his new hideout, nothing turned up. He hadn't learned anything new. Sure, he had walked all over his little part of the subway, pacing literally from wall to wall, and strolling across the ceiling, but he hadn't gotten over his fear of suddenly unsticking and falling to his doom. And web-shooting wasn't as easy as it looked. Even with enhanced senses, his aim was a mess. 

_ Just keep practicing,  _ rebounded through his mind. It failed to be all that encouraging. 

Jeremy left his hideout feeling somewhat discouraged. The feeling didn't last long. He was soon distracted by picking up gas station slushies and chips for a certain best friend, and walking to said friend's home. He texted Michael while on the elevator ride to the thirteenth floor, letting him know he was waiting to be let in. Michael was unlikely to hear him knocking through his headphones, not to mention Jeremy was too conscious of the neighbors to make any loud noises. He felt bad even trotting down the hall, afraid any slight footstep too loud would bring hellfire down upon his ears. 

He shuffled awkwardly in front of the door for a minute or two, mouth drawn in a thin line. 

The door flung open. 

Michael squinted at him, looking...ruffled. His hair stuck up wildly in different directions, like he had been repeatedly running his hands through it. His anxious fingers shifted to rest on his hips; he was wearing boxers and long, dog-print socks. Thankfully, not the weed socks. Because yes, Michael wore different socks depending on his mood, and he changed them throughout the day. 

His glasses were missing, which explained the suspicious squint. 

Jeremy held up his offerings with a meek smile. 

Michael snatched up the edge of his shirt and pulled him into the apartment, closing the door and leaning a hand on it. They stood quietly in the apartment hallway for a moment, holding eye contact. 

Jeremy broke into a giggle with a small snort. 

Michael smiled and plucked a slushie out of Jeremy's hands, examining the contents and swirling the straw around. 

“What happened to 'being online later?’” 

“Oh. Well, my favorite person deserves better than that. I'm sorry for blowing you off, it was douchey.” Jeremy watched Michael critically sip the slushie. He made a face. 

“Dude, that's  _ so sweet. _ I can't be mad at you for it though.” 

“Really?” Jeremy's eyebrows shot up.

Michael grinned like a wolf around his straw. “Talkin’ 'bout the slush, man. Pure sugar-syrup.” 

They both laughed. And suddenly everything was okay again. Michael swung around and fumbled his glasses off the kitchen counter, sliding them up his nose with a nod towards his bedroom. Natalie, one of Michael's mom's, was humming idly as she fixed whatever they were having for dinner. 

“You staying, Jer?” She asked, smiling kindly, accent clipping the edges of her tone. 

“Uh, yeah, sure!” He paused, mind racing through ways to text his dad and let him know. 

“Apocalypse of the Damned?” Michael disappeared into his room. 

“Level nine!” Jeremy hurried after him. 

 

—

 

They wound up sprawled on Michael's bed, controllers in hand, angrily whispering orders at each other as they traversed dangerous zombie arenas. 

“Go left, go left!” Jeremy waved his controller, then gave up and made a go for Michael's. 

“Hey! You're supposed to defend our backside—look out!” 

They remained defeated by level nine, despite their  _ impeccable _ teamwork. The room fell to silence after a long chorus of exasperated groans. Jeremy's mind began to wander memory lane, dredging up his guilt over lying to his best friend. He stared at the ceiling. 

“Um...do you forgive me?” 

Michael shifted on the bed. “For losing  _ again _ ?  _ Never _ .” 

“Michael!” He hissed, sitting up on his elbows to glare at his friend, who was openly laughing at him. 

“My favowite perswon deserwved bwetter!” Michael mimicked, choking on his giggles. 

“ _ Michael! _ ” Jeremy shrieked, outraged and embarrassed. He could feel his cheeks and ears heat up. He launched himself to his knees, and flew at his friend in a vicious tickle attack. His fingers dug into Michael's soft sides. 

“How dare you mock my  _ heartfelt _ apology!” 

Michael flailed, attempting to crawl out from underneath Jeremy towards the end of of the bed, tears in his eyes and glasses askew. Jeremy could swear he saw Michael's cheeks turn a reddish hue. 

“Get off me, you furry.” Michael choked out. 

Jeremy forgot the distraction in favor of freezing, offense renewed. “I was really into dogs for like a year, will you never let me live in peace?” 

Michael turned to meet Jeremy's eyes. His face shone with defiance. His eyes screamed  _ ‘fight me.’ _

“Ooh-woo.” He said, deadpan. 

Jeremy gasped aloud. 

_How_ _dare_ _he_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> George Salazar: *implies Michael's not gay*   
> Also George: *wears new jacket that says "the world of heterosexuals is a sick and boring life." 
> 
>  
> 
> Me: hmm alright georgie saladbar sure


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next step in Operation Hero: do good. But how?

Jeremy shivered as he walked down the hall of his apartment building, huddling further into his jacket and slipping his keys from his pocket. He opened the door to darkness. A masculine voice droned on from the tv in the living area, light flashing across the walls and sharpening the features of his dad, asleep on the couch. There were new takeout boxes added to the pile of growing trash on the coffee table.

He sighed, shrugging off his coat to hang up by the door.

Their house was a disaster.

His dad was a disaster.

He crept over to the fridge to slide his tupperware of leftovers inside, before skulking away to his room.

The pillow lay on the floor, fallen and forgotten. Thanks to his experimenting in the subway, he had figured out the webbing disintegrated after about two hours, weakening a couple minutes before, and leaving nothing behind. Which was great news for him. No cleanup needed.

Jeremy let his body fold into his bed. What a day it had been.

He felt _exhausted_ . His mind buzzed with oppressive static, the weight of it practically pressing him down into his mattress. He closed his eyes, shifting and shoving his face into his pillow. Physically he was okay. More than okay, more than fine, he was great. Not even an ache despite the day's activities. Mentally, he was just _so tired_.

Tomorrow was going to be a whole new day of dealing with this. Tomorrow he was going to begin planning _how_ to do this. How to take the dredges of his current life and mold them into something different. Into something he could be content with. Maybe he would start out with small acts, help a few grannies across the road, rescue a few trapped kittens, build himself up towards larger heroic feats. Ease himself into the whole superhero thing. Maybe just by going out into the world and doing good, he could actually learn something about being a hero. At the very least he would be helping people. And that counted for a lot.

He rolled onto his back and toed off his shoes.

There was a part of his mind that was still trying to wrap itself around all that had happened. That this was his new reality. There were going to be drastic changes, he knew. Life was going to have to re-adjust, dynamics were going to shift, and he was scared of where it would all eventually settle. At the same time, he felt a sense of renewed determination. This was his chance to decide where the chips fell, if he took it.

His hero persona needed a name. A real one, not one he had made up when he was twelve and his fantasies were far-fetched. Not that they were any less far-fetched now. In his head it was as easy as daydreaming, but the real world was far harsher than his dreams, and he’d learned that the hard way before.

Jeremy was determined to stay positive though, for once in his life.

“Bug Bro.” He whispered to himself, wriggling out of his jeans. The name had good alliteration, and the spider-theme was a definite, but no.

“Web Crawler.” He tried, and cringed.

He shuffled around until he was comfortable.

“The...Viscid Arachnid.” _Oh no. Nope._

He'd figure it out.

 

—

 

Jeremy woke with a start to the sound of his alarm, muffled and obnoxious, and lost beneath his pillows. He groaned as he searched around for it, and was relieved when it didn’t stick to his hand this time. There was a notification from Michael, letting him know it was cold and wet, and they should both take the trains to school. Jeremy sent him a thumbs up emoji, too groggy for real words.

He pulled himself through the motions of waking up. His phone pinged after he had crawled out of the shower and was brushing his teeth, alerting him that Michael had sent back a long string of random emojis. Jeremy squinted at it, then at his reflection in the mirror. Wait. There was another figure behind him. His heart seized and he choked on his toothbrush, spinning around.

“You stayed out late.” His dad accused, putting his hands on his hips. The robe he was wearing shifted, revealing that he was not, in fact, wearing pants this morning. Good to know at least some things would always stay the same.

“Oh my g—you scared—don’t you knock—put on some— _what?_ ” He choked, coughing up fizzy toothpaste. His dad waited in silent accusation as Jeremy washed his mouth out. “I was at the Mell’s place.” He settled on, holding tightly at his towel and slithering past his dad’s imposing figure.

“Oh.” His dad made a face. “Why didn’t you let me know?”

“I _texted_ you.” Jeremy pressed, sorting through his dresser for a shirt. He settled on a Nasa one, and turned to find jeans and socks, eyeing his dad pointedly.

“Oh. Hm.”

They were both silent as Jeremy shuffled around his room getting ready for school.

Mr. Heere cleared his throat. “Good talk.” He said, going to pat Jeremy’s back, before deciding better of it and making his escape. Jeremy stared after him, throwing up his hands, collecting his phone and wallet, and following him into the living area. He paused in the hall to shrug on his heavy jacket and pull on his scarf, glancing in his dad's direction.

The man had been doing considerably better since they moved out of their old New Jersey place into their current apartment. There had been too many memories attached to the house, and it had been too much upkeep for just the two of them. Jeremy wasn’t as upset as he had expected. Mostly because it meant reuniting with Michael—the Mell’s had moved about a year before, as Samantha’s job demanded. She was the breadwinner for the family and one of the scariest people Jeremy knew. In a badass, ‘I’m a lawyer, and a mom, and a lesbian, so don’t fuck with me,’ kind of way.

Jeremy pursed his lips, frowning, and headed out.

The walk to school was uneventful and long. Jeremy kept his head down, played games on the train, and tried not to freeze.

 

—

 

A hand slammed into Jeremy's locker when he reached for it, causing him to flinch away. Attached to the hand was a grinning Rich Goranski.

“Wassup, tall-ass.”

Rich used to be a lisping, dorky, _friend_ to Jeremy and Michael in middle school. That changed after his mom passed away in a car accident and his dad started drinking. He started acting out. Cut and dyed his hair, started putting on muscle, changed how he dressed, how he spoke, how he presented himself, got tattoos. His entire personality just...transformed. Jeremy had been upset at losing someone he shared so many similarities to, and considered close to his heart, not to mention his only other friend. Michael would always be there for him, but he didn't understand in the way that Rich had, what it was like to have a dysfunctional family.

Losing that support had been distressing, to say the least.

Not to mention that Rich had started to climb the social ranks after that. The popular jock role had already been filled by Jake Dillinger, but Rich settled comfortably into the 'school bully,’ slot. Jeremy was pretty sure he was the school drug dealer too.

He said he did it out of pity. That he was just supplying those that needed it “motivation,” to “get their act together like I did.”

Jeremy was his number one victim.

He turned a cold shoulder to Rich and reached for the lock holding the door closed. Rich slammed his hand against the metal again; Jeremy fumbled the padlock as the whole structure rattled. He tried to ignore it, open his locker, continue on with his morning, but Rich stood idly by him, grinning and silent, and banging the metal every time Jeremy reached for the lock. The sound grated Jeremy’s ears, and the disruption his nerves. The noise was unnaturally loud in his ears. He liked it better when Rich attacked him verbally, it was so much easier to handle.

“Jesus, Rich, leave me alone!” Jeremy finally snapped. Two wildly unexpected things happened in the following ten seconds. Jeremy put his hand on Rich’s shoulder and pushed him back, out of the way, and then grabbed the padlock roughly in irritation. Rich went flying back a couple feet, landing on his ass. The metal holding the lock snapped with a wrenching sound, the locker creaking open slowly. Jeremy stared at the metal in his hand, eyes blown wide.

His gaze darted around to the other students in the hall, staring in their direction at the commotion, and then to Rich on the ground.

“I’m _so sorry._ ” Was the first thing he spouted, frozen in place.

The shorter boy started laughing, further surprising Jeremy.  

“Damn, Heere. Didn't think you had it in you.” He chortled, picking himself off the floor. His eyes were wary and piercing as he looked Jeremy up and down.

Jeremy continued to stare. His brain was still processing the fact he'd just _thrown someone across a hall_ and then _snapped metal in two,_ in the span of a breath.

“ _What?_ I-I..don't? I just, this must have been broken already, I d-didn’t hurt you, did I? Are you, uh, okay?” He stammered. A shiver ran up his spine. He totally had super strength too. Oh, that was not gonna go down well. That was already not going down well.

Rich squinted at him quietly as he scrambled to grab the books he needed, and shove the ones he didn't into the locker.

“Nah, you're good, dude. Yeah. I'll go notify a teach. Though considering how the school system be, you might get stuck with a broken locker for the rest of the year.” Rich said, shoving his hands in his pockets and meandering away. “Performance art.” He called at the students still staring at them. They shrugged, apparently accepting this.

Jeremy gaped at him. _What the hell?_ Despite calling Jeremy a freak all the time, Rich was _by far so much more of a weirdo._ At least he hadn’t made a big deal of Jeremy manhandling him, yet. He was sure that was going to bite him in the backside later.

Jeremy looked back at his locker, pushing it closed and hoping it stayed that way. Not that anyone would want anything of his.

 

—

 

He wound up avoiding as many interactions as possible for the rest of the day, anxiety taking him over fully. Even lunch with Michael was quiet. Besides, of course, his friend’s ramblings about the logistics of the situation.

“Maybe it’s one of those things where the adrenaline gives you super strength for like, thirty seconds, y’know? Like that mom who lifted a car! Man, that’s cool.” Michael pointed out.

“Mhm.” Jeremy agreed, tersely. Normally, he would be all over this conversation, because it was cool. But it wasn’t _normal_ , and he was currently hiding the fact that _he_ wasn’t normal anymore from, well, everyone, for now, but specifically Michael.

“Aw, it’s okay, Jerbear.” Michael patted his hand from across the cafeteria table. “Everyone’s gonna forget about this as soon as Jake and Chloe break up again. Which—what day is it, Wednesday?—is like, tomorrow at the latest.”

“Mhm.” Jeremy nodded jerkily. _It was not okay._

Michael gave him a sympathetic look, drawing his hand back, and turning the conversation elsewhere.

That lead to him hiding out in the school's little theater an hour before extracurriculars, curled up in a seat with one of his notebooks, idly sketching out designs for his superhero costume. He would obviously need something to wear before he could go out and do good, otherwise people would think that he was just a weird teenager and not recognize him as an aspiring _hero._

He was thinking green and blue, maybe a little orange here and there; it had to be spider-themed, obviously, and on the baggy side to hide his awkward teen body. Spiders had lots of eyeballs, so he could do something with that. And, okay, yeah, that looked horrendous.

He pursed his lips at the paper and scratched his neck—it was strangely tingley, almost ticklish.

“What're those blobs?” Said a discombobulated voice out of nowhere.

“ _Augh!_ ” Jeremy responded. He flailed wildly, and whipped around.

Christine blinked curiously at him, leaning across the back of the seat, evidently surprised that he had half flung himself out of his chair at her arrival. She broke into a sunny smile.

“I mean! They're _nice_ blobs! I don't have anything _against_ blobs, all blobs are equally great and perfect, it's just...what are they supposed to be? Starbursts? Fireworks? Those are kind of the same aren't they.” She gestured towards his notebook expectantly.

“ _Uh_. Spiders.” He choked out.

“Oooh, how neat! I hate spiders?” She leaned further across the chair, smiling down upon his scribbles.

“You...do?” Jeremy righted himself, shuffling back into his seat. He was getting increasingly confused as to why his forever-crush was talking to him about his bad spider drawings. Actually, why was she talking to him at all? He kind of wanted to run out of the theater, get away.

“Yeah! I'd never kill one, because y'know, they have families they need to feed and I get that, but eugh, they give me the shivers. Everyone has their likes and dislikes though. So! That drawing has gotta be you, so...oh my gosh!” She gasped loudly. “Are you making a Halloween costume? A costume for another play? A…. _fursona?_ ” She seemed to brighten at the idea of Halloween, but her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Um. It's Februar—wait, what? Why do you think I'm m-making a _fursona?_ ” Jeremy’s brain, still catching up to _‘I hate spiders,’_ halted.

“I dunno. You were really into dogs for like a year, and it's becoming a trend.” She shrugged. “Besides, it's never too early to start something.”

Jeremy stopped breathing for a moment. Michael had said almost that exact thing. And how did Christine know he was into dogs? Creepy.

She saw how he was looking at her and leaned away a little. “Your locker was covered in dog stickers, and your backpack was dog-shaped for like, a long time. I think everyone knew you had a thing for dogs for awhile.”

Jeremy cringed. He was a lot more see-through than he had originally thought.

She chuckled. “Halloween costume then. Hey, I could totally teach you how to sew if you need help! I love sewing, and not only because it has to do with theater, it reminds me of all these happy memories of my dad. Like—”

“Wait, wait. Uh, I think I've got this, sorry. My mom actually taught me.” Jeremy cut in before she continued to ramble.

Christine visibly deflated. “Oh, okay. If you’re sure.”

 _Nice going, just completely pass up the opportunity to hang out with your crush after school, smooth._ He was saved from further embarrassment by the arrival of the other theater kids, although he kept looking up and accidentally meeting her eyes.

 

—

 

The next three weeks past quickly and uneventfully. He spent his spare time practicing his powers, doing homework, playing games with Michael, and staying up late to work on his costume. He decided, after a not-subtle recommendation from Christine, to go with red and blue. He took care to hide the final sketches from her. She was obviously dying of curiosity, but he held her off by telling her he wanted his Halloween outfit to be a surprise.

It wasn't the best looking outfit. A little wonky around the seams, and mostly made out of spandex from a local fabric store. He didn't understand why other heroes used it, but why not follow in the footsteps of the great, if you too, wanted to be great. The little black spider he had added to the chest was slightly off-kilter, but he’d done his best. He figured why not honor the little guy that had bit him and gave him his powers. The poor bug died only seconds later. Jeremy assumed that was due to it being radiated.

The materials were surprisingly expensive, but he had his meager job at a yogurt shop, (which had slowed down considerably due to the cold weather) and some money he had saved from when they sold some of his mom's belongings.

He had decided a full-body suit was the way to go, but it took a little configuring to make sure he could shoot web while wearing gloves. He wound up having to cut little slots out at his wrists. His other worry had been being able to stick to things with his hands and feet covered; but it turned out not to matter, as it wasn’t his skin itself making him adhesive like he originally thought. He had a theory about his body bending gravity somehow, but who knew, really.

His first time out and about in his costume was both exhilarating, and absolutely terrifying. He shimmied his little bedroom window open, climbed out, and crawled up the side of the building to the roof. Unfortunately that left him looking _down_ , _down, down._

He stood on the edge, quivering all over and taking deep breaths. One shaking hand extended out to shoot a web at the building across from him, and then he was leaping, fear crawling down his spine.

And he was falling.

And then he was _flying_.

Not flying—swinging, from one building to the next. The people below him were glancing up curiously as he swung by.

Well then. Next step in ‘Operation: Hero’...do some good stuff. But how? Where was he supposed to find trouble to fight? Did he just, hang around local markets until some people decided to rob them? Jeremy didn't have a signal in the sky or a connection to the local police radios. Although, he bet Michael did, or could get one. The genius had mad hacking skills.

That brought Jeremy to a realization. He swooped up to a roof, walking along the edge.

The fact was, Michael was extremely tech-savvy. He could totally be Jeremy’s hacking sidekick, the man behind the computer, his Q. He could find crime for Jeremy to fight, and lead him through difficult situations through an earpiece, like some sort of spy movie. That would be _amazing_. Maybe it was time to pull him into the loop. Maybe Jeremy finally had a way he could include his friend in this.

Before Jeremy could go sit down with Michael and explain everything, he needed to make his own debut into society. Although, excitement was beginning to bubble up inside him. He hadn’t been liking the idea of hiding from Michael forever; it was a breach of trust he wasn’t willing to take, but he hadn’t known how to break the news. Now, he had a proposal.

Turning back to the task at hand, he started to scan the streets of New York, swinging his way around a couple of blocks, circling back, staying within the vicinity of his neighborhood. Nothing seemed to happen for a long while. He eventually sat himself down on the edge of a building and watched people below him scurry back and forth, until he noticed an elder lady making her way across a crosswalk, picking up flyers she seemed to have dropped. Aha!

Jeremy, with a rush of excitement, zipped down beside her.

“Here! Let me, uh, help you.” Jeremy gathered up all the flyers he could, taking her arm and hurrying her across. The citizens that had been walking around her gave them an even wider berth than before, and a couple spooked looks.

The old lady stared at him, before shaking his hand off. “Freak.” She muttered, hurrying away into the crowd.

Jeremy stared after her through his mask. “Wh-what?” He looked down at the flyers still in his hand. Well. That wasn’t what he had expected. He flipped one over to read it—an advertisement about an agency, looking for unnatural talent to be in a commercial. Huh.

Feeling disappointed and a little disheartened, he webbed his way back up to the safety of the ledge, and started walking across it, kicking his feet and staring at the flyer contemplatively.

 

—

 

The real action came sometime later, after evening had descended upon the city and Jeremy was sitting on a ledge, head resting on his chin, scrolling through his phone out of boredom. Sirens roared to life near him, and he looked up, following the flashing lights with his eyes. Moments later he could hear the faint sound of screams, and finally spotted the smoke rising in the distance.

“Oh, shit.” He breathed, jumping to his feet and putting his phone away. (He’d sewn a little pocket for it into his suit.)

He sprinted across the roof, heart leaping into his throat when he jumped off the edge, and headed towards the disturbance. As he got closer the sounds of screaming and panic became more distinct. He could feel the panic resound within his own chest. Here he was, he was going to _do this._

Fire bloomed from the windows of what looked to be an apartment complex. A rumbling crash resounded throughout the interior—probably a beam falling. Firefighters were already on the site, working to keep the gathered crowd away from the building, and directing citizens pouring out the doors to the safety of awaiting ambulances. Indistinct yelling caught his attention. A woman was struggling violently against one of the workers. As Jeremy watched, she wriggled out of his grasp, making a break for the doors before being grabbed again.

“My brother! _My brother!_ ” She screamed. Jeremy dropped down beside her, stumbling a little as he landed.

“Is he still inside?” He raised his voice to be heard among the commotion.

“ _Yes!_ Yes! He was—the bathroom! It was locked, I don’t think he—” She ducked out of the firefighter’s grasp and ran the few steps to latch herself onto Jeremy. Her wide eyes bore into his desperately. “The seventh floor. _Please._ ”

“I-I’ll get him.” Jeremy promised. He slipped away from her hands and past the protesting firefighter, running at the burning building. He managed to circle around and find a window that had blown open, and latched webs onto either side. With a deep breath of clear air, he pulled back and catapulted himself up and inside....straight into a wall. He crashed against the plaster, slamming his shoulder into it and groaning. _Fuuuuuck._ Heat seared at him through the fabric of his suit, making his eyes water under the mask and his skin crawl uncomfortably.

“Hello?” He called, spinning away from the wall. No answer. Something crashed further in the structure, making him flinch. He hurried through a couple of rooms, straining his eyes and ears. There was a pounding noise somewhere to his left. He followed the noise to a closed door.

“Help! Get me out of here!” It was a masculine voice. Jeremy bolted towards it, throwing caution to the wind. His hurt shoulder banged into the wood, hinges snapping underneath him, and the door flew open. There was a half-naked man inside, covered in ash and shivering.

“Oh shit, okay, um, hold on.” Jeremy looked around wildly, grabbing at a soot-covered towel. He shook it out and threw it around the man, then wrapped his arms around his shoulders, leading him back through the apartment. Pieces of plaster were breaking off from the ceiling. Things were creaking, cracking, breaking around them. Jeremy pushed the man’s head low.

“Close your eyes!” He yelled, and pushed them both into a run. A few seconds and they were crashing through another window, glass shattering around them. Jeremy lowered them unsteadily and unexpectedly fast towards the ground, the weight of the man pulling him down his web quicker than he anticipated. They both staggered when they hit the concrete.

The man dashed out of Jeremy’s hold and into the arms of his waiting sister, while Jeremy bent over his knees and _breathed._ That. Had been. Terrifying.

It was worth it when he straightened and the woman enfolded him into a hug, sobbing on his shoulder and whispering ‘thank you,’ over and over. He smiled.

“Thank you, uh…” The man he saved looked at him, confused.

“Oh, eh. Call me...The Amazing Spider-Man.” Jeremy beamed from within his mask, pride warming him from the inside out.

“Thanks, Spider-Dude.” The guy said.

“Amazing Spider-Man?” Jeremy tried, proud stance falling a little.

“Spider-Guy.”

“Spider- _Man_.” Jeremy pushed.

“Thanks, Spider-Man.” The guy was laughing, and so was his sister as she let Jeremy go. He lead them to the ambulances, to be put in the hands of medical professionals. It tugged at his heartstrings to see how understandably distraught the woman was at almost losing her family. He thought of his dad, and then his mom. He had just put himself in the same danger. His dad could have lost the only family he had left without even knowing why.

He thought of Michael, and stared at the woman and her brother. If Michael knew of Jeremy’s powers, he would refuse to be left on the sidelines, refuse to stay hidden behind a computer. He would find a way to run straight into danger with Jeremy. He could get hurt. He could _die._ Tears pricked his eyes and he turned, stumbling away from the crowd which had begun cheering for him, and zipping towards isolation.

Jeremy couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t handle that. But God, Michael could lose _Jeremy_ , if his heroics went wrong. If people knew who Jeremy was, if the bad guys got ahold of that information, they would go after him _and_ his family, they would become targets, they’d be immediately in danger. Anyone who was connected to him would be in danger. He couldn’t tell his peers at school, couldn’t—wouldn’t tell his dad. He couldn’t tell Michael either, couldn’t do that to his moms. _Nobody_ could know.

Jeremy let out a repressed sob. He found a nice corner of the rooftop he was on to collapse against, breath coming in short gasps. He couldn’t stop this, couldn’t _not_ be a hero, not anymore. Not after the way those people had looked at him when he helped them.

He put his head between his knees. Michael wasn’t stupid. Jeremy was a terrible liar. He could try his best, but his friend knew him too well. He’d figure it out eventually. All Jeremy could hope to do was postpone it as long as possible. And the _betrayal_ , when he did, when he knew Jeremy had kept it from him. His mind felt like it was splitting at the seams, tearing in two, between safety and loyalty. He could lose his friendship either way.

But...even if he lost his friendship with Michael...he would be _safe in his ignorance,_ more than he would knowing and being out in the field with Jeremy. Keeping it from him would hurt the both of them, but it would mean keeping Michael from somewhat inevitable _death._

_He could not let Michael know._

He would carry on as he could, but...it meant more and more distance between them, the more Michael pushed. And he would push, once he was onto Jeremy. _But he’d be safe._

Jeremy wished he didn’t have powers anymore. Anything was worth seeing that woman’s face when she was reunited with her sibling, _but this._ _Not his friendship, his brother._ He couldn’t back out now. Dragging himself off the ground, he sent a quick message to his friend before his scrambled mind could catch up to his actions, and shakily made his way home.

 

**[ Friday 10:37pm ]**

 

 **jeremy**  
im sorry

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BE MORE CHILL BROADWAY OPENING!!!!!!!!!!! God, I love this musical. I'm so happy for them. 
> 
>  
> 
> Jeremy: Michael's a drama queen  
> Also Jeremy: *proceeds to be a drama queen* 
> 
> If anyone wants to scream about BMC with me, come catch me on instagram @fauxoic

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know you enjoyed it with a kudo or a comment,,


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